Four Chairs

Another season of lawn chairs at Target. . . . .I return, convinced it’s just a question of fitting the chairs over the passenger seat. . . .

But once in the store with my shopping cart, I find it enough of a struggle just to get four chairs through checkout (the legs took down a credit card swipe machine, a rack of magazines and breath mints). I arrive at the pedestrian crossing in the parking lot, but now the chairs begin to fall and the cart goes into a death spin.



Pickups go by, their drivers somewhat irritated that I chose the crosswalk for shopping cart drama. No one offers to help. Finally, I arrive at the Mustang. Don’t bother with the trunk. It’s barely holds groceries. I try the passenger side—seat reclining, all the way forward. There is no way these chairs will go in the car.

Within 15 minutes, I am at customer service with my receipt in hand. What, an exchange already? Yes. The chairs don’t fit in my trunk, and the store does not deliver. Do you want us to hold them for you? No!

Six weeks later, my sister plans a visit in her van. Cargo van, did you say? She offers to meet me at Target but tells me not to get there too early. She’s still on I-95.

The Target checkout line is moving slowly. Once again, the chairs are in a precarious balance in the cart. I don’t want them to fall on the turbulent children behind me or the lady from Norway in front. The cashier seems oblivious to my plight and wants to welcome the foreigner to American soil. Please, no small talk now. Because the chairs will take out your swipe machine and breath mints and possibly the foreign lady too.

The Demise of the Close--Not Just Yet

Taken from Gallica, the photo shows Peiresc's signature in a letter from the 1630s.



In an article in Slate, End Email Signoffs, the author questions the closings of emails, especially things like warm, kind or fond regards.

For many of us, the use and type of close depends on the circumstances (formal v. informal) or tone. Business or job letters, exchanges with a state or federal agency (where email is a matter of public record) need a close (“sincerely” works great). In informal exchanges, I’ll use “all the best” to avoid an abrupt tone that implies I am far too busy to be bothered with courtesy.

I have personal reasons for some closings. My tango friends sign as “tango hugs,” which translates we can’t wait to see one another at the next milonga. One friend and I sign our emails exchanges as “your friend and fan,” shorthand for our years as colleagues and continued encouragement in creative ventures. My family and I use the “xoxo.” My kids don’t.


I devoted most of my research to a study of a 17th-century natural philosopher, Nicolas-Claude Fabri de Peiresc, known for his extensive use of letters to spread the new science. He often signed his lengthy missives with a short close--“your humble servant.” Admittedly, I will lament the loss of historical documents. . . . .But I digress.

The trend favoring a shorter close has impacted even the French. For years I struggled to perfect the “Veilllez-agréer, Monsieur, l’expression de mes sentiments distingués” to learn that now it has been replaced by “cordialement” in formal settings or “amicalement” or “A+” for friends, if anything at all.


Although the author of the article proposes ending email signoffs “forever,” I’m not ready to relinquish it altogether. At least, not yet.


How do you sign your emails?

Project House or House Projects - LIKE, COMMENT. . .

Some young FB friends just posted they bought a project house. Do I press LIKE? Do I comment, "Been there, done that”? Projects mean longer days and rooms in perpetual disarray and unpleasant surprises. A feeling of accomplishment? At what price?




I have lived in a house without water or electricity (not by choice), painted interiors and exteriors, and I have broken water pipes and cut cables (by accident).




Recently, I decided to hire a contractor for some projects The contract stipulated the worksite would be cleaned at the end of each day and that the work would be completed by a specified date. Ah, no buckets, no brushes, no cement mixers and shoves around the yard. Day 1, no one came. Day 2, they left a trailer, blocking my garage. Day 3, they stayed just long enough to leave a mess. Day 3, I am starting to have second thoughts.

In the meantime, my kids are involved in major house projects. Refinishing wood floors (they ended by calling in the pros), painting. . . . some plaster, electricity, lots of challenges. They told me they are tired of living out of boxes for extended periods. They never want to see another bucket of paint, hear the pounding of hammers or the grinding of sanders. They are coming to visit for vacation.

My small worksite has been completed in time for their visit. Well, almost. The guest bathroom is still in a state of disarray. These small projects that I no longer see—the layers of contact paper on the shelves and the patched hole in the wall where the plumber repaired a leaky shower. Today, I finished those projects with a slight feeling of accomplishment.




Maybe the young FB friends will have that same feeling. LIKE!

Une salade nicoise . . . or is it?

In February, I dream of sunny outdoor terraces with a salade niçoise, a glass of rosé and view of the Mediterranean. Although Riviera may not have that requisite sunlight and warmth at this time of year, here in South Florida, we do.

At the grocery, I ponder ingredients for a salade niçoise. It sounds easy--lettuce, tomatoes, tuna, tomatoes, local olives and anchovies. But wait. I’ve had some salads with potatoes, green beans and artichokes . . . . Then, I remember one friend insisting no cooked vegetables go into the salad.
What should have been a simple trip to the produce aisle or a market actually creates a dilemma—purist or contemporary salad?

Purists in France defend the language (through the Académie française ), and another group protects the tradition of regional Niçois cooking (Cercle de la Capelina d’Or). After all, this region became a part of France in 1860, and before that time, it was the Comté de Nice.

Purists describe traditional cooking as very simple, focusing on basic ingredients of tomatoes, anchovies, olives and olive oil. Other ingredients are added, according to availability.



The recipe by Julia Childs includes green beans and potatoes in her variation. David Lebovitz, a professional chef and food writer, says never! In fact, he maintains the dressing does not include vinegar, only olive oil and a few herbs. Jacques Medecin, a former mayor of Nice known for his corruption, maintained the traditionalist approach to the salad. . . . .

Given that I am more than 5,000 miles from Nice and not basking at the Café de la Plage or the Crystal, I’m with Julia on this one. Green beans and potatoes, it is, but it’s no longer a salade niçoise.

Traditional salad ingredients—Romain lettuce, small black olives (with pits), tomato wedges, hard-boiled eggs, tuna and a few anchovies. Additional ingredients—red or pepper and small artichokes. Season with olive oil and herbs, or make a vinaigrette. Wine—a rosé from the area.

For Argentine tango, I need more than stilettos and experience. . . .

Argentine tango is a fascinating dance that requires skill in technique, musicality, a relationship with a partner (at least for periods of three to six minutes) as well as an understanding of a non-verbal code such as the cabeceo or invitation to dance.

Women may sit on opposite sides of the room from the men at a milonga (tango dance). At the break (cortina) between tandas ( a group of three to five songs), we scan the men, attempting to make eye contact (without appearing to do so) to show our interest in dancing. From the opposite side of the room, the men, who have been watching dancers, now nod slightly to issue an invitation to dance. The targeted female might look away (a refusal) or she might sustain eye contact and rise when her tanguero approaches (an acceptance).

Like many aspects of Argentine tango, the cabeceo is subtle, perceptible to the couple involved. The invitation. The acceptance or refusal. Only the man and woman know.

At one of my first milongas in France, the women stopped talking during the cortina. They directed their looks toward the men. I made eye contact (I thought) and then stood up to accept an invitation only to realize it was for the woman behind, who also stood.

Because I am near sighted, I cannot see the cabeceo across the room. And I cannot dance in glasses without injuring my partner with pointy frames when our faces touch. Friends suggested I wear my glasses for the cabeceo but remove them for close embrace. I hope to avoid a mistaken cabeceo and worse, to miss an opportunity to dance altogether.

It is just a dance after all, but it is a dance of subtleties. . . . Perhaps that is part of its attraction.

Musings on Superbowl v. Downton Abbey – Do you mind if I change channels?

What some media write up as a match between two coaching brothers, others describe as a match between two programs—sports or the popular Downton Abbey on PBS. On the home front, one of my childhood friends in Virginia (a Downton Abbey fan) emails me, “No Beyonce in this house. ” Then my daughter texts to ask if I realize I will be visiting South Beach on Super Bowl Sunday.

But I go to South Beach (Miami) anyway. I plan to sit through the first half of the game then leave in time to watch Downton Abbey in my hotel.

We walk to Ocean Drive. Surprise, no aggressive restaurant hostesses promote lunch-dinner or drink specials. Big screen TVs blare from café terraces. Crowds pack the tables. One or two restaurants make an effort to attract the non-bowl tourists, by playing music or having a guitarist. The Clevelander, which wraps around a corner on Ocean Drive, has standing room only (beer from the bar at $9 and from the bathing suit-clad hostess, $6). With all the people and noise, is anyone actually watching the game? Will they notice if I change channels?

Although I plan to watch the Super Bowl with my daughter and her boyfriend until halftime (really!) , I leave after a few minutes and head for Lincoln Road, which has few pedestrians and diners on this beautiful Sunday evening.


At DeLuca’s, where one of the owner’s explains it is not a “sports bar,” I try a pinot grigio (Torre di Luna) along with bruschetta. When the owner offers me another glass, I decline. After all, I must make it back for Downton Abbey.

Maybe next year. . .

Wanted: Frenchman with Crepe Pan - for Feb. 2 Chandeleur

DATELINE – My kitchen. The Chandeleur, Feb. 2, is the day for making crepes in France. I’ve often seen the man of the household make and flip crepes. But where are these Frenchmen with crepe pans when you need them!

My first experience was in Fontainebleau in the kitchen of some friends and their three small children. Pierre donned the apron and flipped crepes. According to their tradition, you turn your back to the armoire, and with one hand, you flip the crepe on the top while holding a gold coin in the other hand. I think we bypassed that part of tradition because of the obvious mess (you leave the crepe on the armoire for a year) and the lack of a gold piece. Just making the crepes on that day must have brought prosperity.

Here is the recipe I use for making crepes. The first crepe is usually a mess. You do need to stand over a hot skill and watch the crepes carefully. It’s a little like making turbo-charged pancakes.

CREPES - 250 g. farine / approx. 2 cups of flour - 3 oeufs / 3 eggs - sel / pinch of salt - 2 tblps. Huile / 2 TBLSP. Oil - zeste de citron / zest of lemon (chopped) - 1 verre de lait / 1 cup of milk 1 verre d’eau / 1 cup of water Put the flour in a bowl. Add three beaten eggs and salt. Next, add the oil then very slowly, the milk and water. The lemon zest is optional (but improves the flavor for dessert crepes). Allow your mixture to rest at room temperature (covered with a towel) for two hours.

I left mine in the refrigerator overnight then put it at room temperature for two hours. Before you cook your crepes, add more water to make the batter a little thinner. The crepe pan should be shallow and also light (so you can flip the crepes). The oil needs to be hot. I usually add a little oil to the pan after every other crepe. When crepes are done, sprinkle with sugar and roll (while hot) or add chocolate or Nutella or just wait until they cool and add fruit. My batter came out a bit lumpy so I used a mixer on low speed. From the photo, you can see the crepes turned out a little thick. I should have added more water. But hey, they are still good.

Until I find the Frenchman with the crepe pan, I’ll have to use my own heavier skillet.